


Prestidigitation

by brawltogethernow



Series: strung along [4]
Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Cantrips & Shenanigans, Fate, Friendship, Gen, It Works In Mysterious Ways, Platonic Soulmates, Red String of Fate, Vignettes, Why Does Hakuba Have a Pet Hawk and Other Questions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-01 03:17:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14511369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brawltogethernow/pseuds/brawltogethernow
Summary: Fate points the way with flashing arrows. Humans ignore them. Also, logistics.





	Prestidigitation

**Author's Note:**

> I finished this the January before last, but it needed the context of _Dealt_. Honestly, _Sleight_ also needed the context of _Dealt_.

“And how are you so sure, huh?” demanded the inspector.

“I—!” Saguru choked on his insistence. _I can’t tell them one of my strings is the Kaitou Kid._ “Isn’t the blood test enough!? You can’t argue with forensics! Sir—”

“And I’m telling you, I’m telling you,” growled Inspector Nakamori, “I know Kid, this _is_ Kid, and Kid _ain’t_ sixteen. It’s not possible.” And with that, he turned his back on Saguru and bustled away, off to do one of the bottomless litany of tasks an officer of rank always had to do, doubled for now while the Task Force was tentatively rush-reestablished without the higher-ups being quite committed enough to let up on the tasks the members had already been doing, just in case.

 _Funny,_ though Saguru, watching him go. _We’re sure for the same reason. And how is that_ possible?

His faint gray string led to Kuroba. His faint gray string led to the Kaitou Kid. Ergo, Kuroba Kaito was the Kaitou Kid.

But Nakamori’s string of fate with the Kid was _infamous,_ and _it_ seemed to prove, if the man’s reports were accurate, which there was no reason to assume they weren’t, that the current Kid and the previous Kid were one and the same.

 _Maybe people can be de-aged,_ Saguru thought bitterly. _…Ha ha._

He paused and thought about this.

He drew out his case book from the breast pocket opposite his watch and made a note. A small note.

It would be joined over time by a number of others, all equally fruitless.

 

Saguru had made it as clear as he could to Kuroba, at least, that he would sit on this evidence the absolute minimum amount of time he had to, and that when he had _real_ evidence he was going to take _full advantage._ Put a notorious thief behind bars, earn some respect from-slash-extricate himself from the overseeing of Nakamori, receive massive, deserved accolades. Simple.

Watch out, Kid.

*

Hakuba Saguru was…a mostly toothless, socially inept nerd. With an attack hawk.

When they met, Hakuba coolly informed Kaito he hoped he didn’t think their being soulmates would interfere with him doing his job. He was a put-together foreigner, only in cosplay. He dropped a sick burn that referenced Batman without losing his sneering air of superiority.

Almost immediately thereafter, Hakuba was confronting him in class in a high dudgeon, and wrestling with him ineptly at a heist he’d turned into some sort of sleepless matchmaking shindig. He dropped deeply unsubtle hints about his suspicions in public. He more often than not needed to be knocked out to finally end a heist. He ruthlessly utilized the scant inches and breadth of shoulder he had on the rest of their class to loom more effectively. It was bizarre, and exhausting.

But then, Kaito realized Hakuba made grandiose declarations because he _didn’t actually know what he wanted_. It made him unpredictable, but easy to circumvent.

Kaito was starting to understand Hakuba Saguru. And with that was coming the realization that in other circumstances they probably could have been friends.

*

Phantom thieves weren’t exactly the usual scene of Kudo Shinichi, teen detective, but the evening was going pretty well. “Don’t worry, officers,” he said. “It’s not—” He broke off, rubbing at his ear as well as he could under the massive safety earmuffs. There was some sort of brain-rattling sensation, getting too  prevalent to ignore. Was there something wrong with the helicopter? He turned to Megure. “Do you—hear that?”

The inspector blinked at him, nonplussed. “Hear what, Shinichi-kun?”

Shinichi realized the man looked completely unaffected. Still slightly harried (his fault, whoops), but not apparently troubled by what was making Shinichi want to shout to be heard over—over—over his vision shaking? “I—” he started.

( _Akako’s butler grabbed her wrist.“Miss Akako! You must not use your powers in front of all these people!”_ )

The unmooring feeling stopped. Suddenly, there were only the normal vibrations of the helicopter.

“I— I suppose it’s nothing,” said Shinichi, into the loud quiet,  ignoring Megure’s look of paternal worry. What the hell was that? Did he have an ear infection?

Later. “It’s nearly the time in the note, right?” said Shinichi. “Do you have radio contact with the group on the ground yet?”

*

Miyano Shiho’s favorite color had always been red. She didn’t have a single red string, of course, but it was probably better that way. She was a toxic influence. She eyed the dull gray strings on her fingers with wariness. She hoped she could die before meeting them, even though it didn’t work that way. It didn’t matter what the individuals on the other ends were like. Anyone would deserve better.

There were more of them than you would think, for someone as secluded as she was, each representing a promise she didn’t want.

 

Haibara Ai had acquired color in five strings since being Miyano Shiho. She did not have a single red string.

It was probably better that way.

She found herself coveting those relationships, in the guilty fashion applied to anything good in her life she just couldn’t feel she deserved. Kudo-kun’s snippy camaraderie—the way he’d declared that his fate was tied up in hers, and was ready to reiterate it whenever she faltered. A safe home to return to with the professor. Three impressionable optimists who adored her.

 _My sister,_ she told herself, _would want me to be happy._ And she carried on.

She didn’t mind that three of them were over ten years her junior (and one, though significantly her senior, barely more mature than the children in some respects…)—she would leave the embarrassment over things like that to Kudo-kun. It made her hopeful, about the future.

*

Sonoko’s string to Kaitou Kid was just tangerine, and on her right middle finger opposite Ran. Not very romantic in color _or_ placement. _This is okay,_ she thought. _He can be like a straight gay best friend. Or something._ She was _not_ disappointed. This would be _fun._ She’d always known that getting to know a soulmate from afar before really meeting would be exciting.

Well, she’d thought it sounded romantic. Thank you, age of the internet, boon to lovers everywhere! But _also_ exciting.

*

“Ah, Nakamori-keibu!” said the museum curate, bustling over to him. She was an older woman with a long frown and big eyes under thick-lensed, hugely magnifying glasses with whaddid you call ‘em, those beaded necklace things. “I’m so glad you could come,” she said, tugging her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I’ve been so worried about our jewel.”

Ignoring her, Ginzo held up his hand in front of her face. The connection was dark today, but you never knew.

She pulled back slightly and stared at his hand, eyelids stuttering over wide fish eyes. He squinted to look for an elusive glimmer of white. When none appeared, he begrudgingly lowered his hand to talk to her.

 

Halfway through the evening, there it finally was, the spiderweb gleam, like moonlight, trailing to a nondescript-looking middle-aged man in the crowd. That was his cue. “GETTIM!” he shouted.

The string was gone by the time the Kid had disappeared out of an air vent (or a window, or to hide among their number), but hey. There was always next time.

*

Aoko let herself into the Kuroba house, as she’d been doing unimpeded since she was a small child, barring one break when they were seven and Kaito started locking the door and moved the spare key, insisting that she join him in learning lockpicking if she wanted to visit, and earlier this year when he became mysteriously, frustratingly cagey, which ultimately turned out to be because he was trying to keep her in the dark about going out to commit obnoxious vigilante justice.

Her best friend was, really, more trouble than he was worth. Now, where could he be? She peered around the empty, oddly sterile foyer. The Kuroba household had always gotten more personal the further you got from the front door, which opened into a room that basically looked like the furnishings had been stolen from a vintage hotel.

…Knowing his parents, they _might_ have been.

She trotted up the stairs, checked inside a few doorways, and stopped in the fourth empty room, huffing impatiently.

Aoko held up her left hand and squinted at it. The vibrant raspberry string attached at her ring finger led downward at a slant into the floor in front of Kuroba-san’s portrait. Of course it did.

She shouldered her way through the secret door. Busy or not, Kaito had _promised_ they would meet up to do homework today. She’d prepared snacks, and everything. If he complained, she would shoot him with one of his own trick pistols.

 

The next day, Keiko leaned over from her seat to look at Kaito. “Kaito-kun?” she said. “There’s something pink in your hair.”

“Dammit,” he said, smacking at his head. Faint puffs of glitter powder drifted free.

Aoko smirked.


End file.
